


The Museum Rule

by astroturfwars



Category: Free!
Genre: Haru is obsessive, Headgames with Haru, I was going to write porn and then it turned into feelings, Longing, M/M, Rin is a beautiful delicate flower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 06:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astroturfwars/pseuds/astroturfwars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We'll go as far as you want, <i>Haru wants to say, </i>as long as you don't go too far from me. <i>But Haru is seventeen and newly pieced back together and desperate, and the words are out before he can think about them.</i></p>
<p>  <i>"I want you," Haru says, and their breath mingles between them like the last bastion of neutrality. "All of you. Everything."</i><br/> <br/>Or: Desire drives everyone a little crazy sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Museum Rule

It starts after _that day_ in the courtyard.

It doesn't start right away. Looking back on it, Haru has been able to recognize the reaction was (is, has always been) a slow burn, enzymes locking into place just below his consciousness.

He wonders if the catalyst was meeting Rin for the first time when they were twelve, letting him joke and tease and race his way into Haru's life, into his head. Maybe it was when he and Rin raced the first time, when Haru first discovered that hurting someone else hurt you just as much, stayed with you just as long, went just as deep. 

Maybe it was when he and Rin stumbled to the ground, bodies tangled together like they'd never be able to separate again (because even when they're at odds, even when they're far away, they're still caught up in each other like twisted roots), breathing hard and flushed and touching _everywhere_. 

Haru thinks maybe the final straw was Rin torn open, raw and sharp and jagged, shaking and flushed and crying as he sat on Haru's thighs.

He's almost ashamed to think that's what does it for him, but he gets it, sort of, in the esoteric way that people who have loved and lost and lost again would understand. When you finally get the chance to reunite with someone dear, the way they are in that moment becomes part of their essence to you, because that state of being is what brought them back to you. That's not a memory so easily discarded, Haru finds, and in turn he finds he can't bring himself to mind. 

What he _should_ mind--should but doesn't, can't--is the way that memory stirs something dark and hot and wanting in his blood. Haru knows what this feeling is, at its shallowest depth: it's the way his heart pounds when Rin grins wide and toothy and demands a race; it's the desperation of coming up for air between strokes; it's the thrill of slapping his hand against the wall, win or lose, and turning to see Rin heaving beside him. 

But that's not nearly as deep as what he feels after _that day_ , doesn't scare him nearly as much, doesn't feel something like a revelation. No, what he feels is more like a vent at the bottom of the ocean; something burning white-hot and streaking toward the surface like a comet, racing up from the darkness of his subconscious to where he can feel it heating him from the inside out. 

It's desire, pure and unfettered, and Haru sinks into it like a stone. 

 

\--

 

The problem with pleasurable things, Haru finds, is that they can become addictive. 

He can't recall the last time he'd come without thinking of Rin, thighs flexing as he hovered above Haru's hips, so close to the friction Haru wanted but couldn't quite dream into existence. 

He remembers the half-second image of Rin underneath him as they'd rolled, a speed portrait of a twisted mouth and flushed cheeks and bright eyes and mussed hair that Haru would pay millions to be able to hang up in his room. He thinks of the way Rin's hands had felt, large and strong and warm, angry-hot even through his shirt, and wonders if they'd be just as firm around his dick. 

Haru thinks of Rin coming back to him, and he swears he can taste Rin's tears on his face when he falls over the edge. 

 

\--

 

Now, Haru isn't the best student in his year. He's well aware of that, because Rin is exceedingly smart and all too willing to remind Haru of it. Haru doesn't mind; he's not so prideful that the jabs hurt, and when Rin teases it's usually while he's helping Haru with English, making little veiled comments as he explains how to conjugate irregular verbs. Rin will lean across the table, smirking, a thin eyebrow raised, and he'll say something that makes Haru bristle despite himself. 

Haru retorts, as always, inevitable, and Rin will scowl like he always does, and. 

And Haru feels his dick twitch when he sees Rin's lips curl in a frown. 

It's not an unusual reaction. Every now and then Haru finds himself unable to dissociate the Rin in his dreams from the one sitting in front of him, especially when they make the same frustrated face he remembers from weeks ago. Both are equally beautiful, both prickling with thorns, and both are dangerously enticing. 

Haru isn't the best student in his year. But he still recognizes conditioned responses when he sees them, because instinct is one of the things he inherently understands. Haru doesn't try to interpret instincts, doesn't need to rationalize them; he just _knows_ them, and in that way they make sense to him. Some things just are, like swimming and Rin and love and loss, and Haru doesn't challenge that. 

So when Haru realizes that Rin's frowns and outbursts and irritation make his blood run hot with need and not annoyance, he accepts it. He accepts that when Rin's eyes narrow it makes his mouth go dry, and that when they shine with tears he aches, and it makes sense, really. Rin had been sitting on his lap, crying and shaking and hot--the memory was as painful as it was sensual, but Haru was seventeen and Rin had come back to him that day, and that could never be anything but good. 

Haru is woven of impulses and instincts and drives, and he doesn't need to understand them to know they are there, to know that Rin is at the heart of most of them. He just knows, and that's sense enough. 

 

\--

 

Haru isn't sure which Rin he prefers.

In his head, behind his eyes, Rin straddles him, tosses his head back and lets Haru trace the tendons of his neck with his tongue. This Rin grabs Haru by the collar and jerks him upwards to kiss him, tongues sliding against each other like bodies through water, and only breaks away to murmur heart-twisting sentiments Haru can't bring himself to imagine. In his head, Rin lets Haru reclaim what he'd lost, lets him memorize the definition of muscle under skin and bone under that, lets him make a map with lips and teeth so Haru can always find his way back. 

Outside his head, Rin proposes ridiculous challenges and slings an arm around his shoulder and only occasionally pauses to side-eye him, as if to ask _is this okay? Do I have the right to do this? Do I belong?_

This Rin lets Haru say yes a thousand times with a single nod, interprets Haru's small smile as the acceptance he won't admit he needs, and rewards him with friendship blossoming slowly in the face of oncoming spring. This Rin is thawing as the days pass, touching and grinning and laughing easier every time Haru sees him, and Haru wonders how it's possible for him (for anyone, anyone who'd ever met Rin, anyone who'd ever seen him in full bloom) to want anything more than this.

Haru wants, below and above it all, Rin; therefore, by extension, Rin’s desires are his desires. So he will go wherever Rin is, will go as far as Rin wants him to go, and he will be content--happy, even--with that. That alone is more than Haru deserves. 

 

\--

 

A month after _that day_ , Haru's dreams steal home from first base. 

He dreams of Rin, thighs and face open, bared; he dreams of Rin flushed rose-red from his face to his chest, sweat beading like dew on his skin. He dreams of Rin sinking down on his cock like an anchor, heavy and tight and burning hot, his palms splayed flat on Haru's chest for support, little noises spilling from his mouth, tears glimmering in the corners of his eyes. 

Haru's hand is on his dick before he's even fully awake, a familiar name on his lips. A groan echoes in the still air, and he strokes himself hard once, twice, three times before he comes so hard it feels like a punch to the gut.

 

\--

 

Nothing comes of it, of course.

It's been two months since _that day_ , and Haru still dreams of Rin nearly every night. The dreams are as they always are: only enough to take the edge off, and more than enough to leave him wanting in the daylight. Haru knows that's as far as it goes, because Rin is one of the few things in life that Haru recognizes--needs, even--as a constant, and he cannot risk losing Rin again. Not again. 

That doesn't mean he feels nothing when he sees Rin--almost every day now, unless either he or Rin or the others are busy, because Haru does not trust himself to be alone with Rin unless it's in the water--no, that desire runs thick in his blood, and Haru can't make it cool. 

Haru lives by the museum rule nowadays: look, but don't touch, and even then only from a safe distance. That works well enough, although sometimes Makoto catches him staring and asks him what's wrong. Haru will shrug and Makoto will laugh and say something about Rin getting under Haru's skin again, and Haru nearly laughs too because Makoto always knows, somehow. 

Haru wonders if Makoto knows just how right he is.

 

\--

 

Nothing comes of it, of course, until something does. 

It's been a long day, and they're finishing up a joint practice at Samezuka half an hour late. Rin stayed behind because by now they had a standing agreement: Rin and the Iwatobi boys would stay late, usually to indulge Haru’s need to swim, and they’d go for dinner after.

Swimming is not the need Haru is indulging today. 

Haru climbs the ladder, bites down on his lip and tries to will away the throbbing in his dick, but it's nearly impossible when Rin is maybe seven feet away and pulling down his jammers to rub at the lines where they cut into his skin. Rin has an inch and maybe ten pounds on Haru and it's all muscle, prominent in the curve of his thighs and shoulders, bigger now than Haru had ever imagined either of them would get when they were twelve. 

Rin is fresh out of the pool, flushed and grinning and still breathing unevenly, and Haru feels that inexorable pull like he's got hooks in both his heart and hips. He can't help but stare, really, because Rin is so vibrant that Haru can barely see anything else. Impulsively--desire is heady stuff--Haru presses his palm against his dick through his jammers, closes his eyes, and completely misses the moment Rin _looks_ at him.

He opens his eyes and Rin is looking at him, confused and scared, and his world falls apart at the seams.

"Haru, what," Rin starts. The look on his face makes Haru's blood still in his veins, and he thinks, no.

_No, you weren't supposed to find out, you weren't supposed to know, this is neutral ground and I can't ruin that. No, don't look at me like that, don't look at me like you want to run, I can't take that, not again, no--_

"No," Haru says, because that's all he can hear right now. No, don't turn away; no, don't leave me; no, no, no. "Rin-- _no_ \--"

Rin’s expression is falling, and Haru can’t—he just can’t. 

He turns and leaves, walking as fast as he can go without looking like hell itself is on his heels. He passes Nagisa and Rei and Makoto, and he knows they're talking to him but he can't hear them over the pounding of his own traitor heart in his ears, saying _you can't have your cake and eat it too_. 

For once he gets it, he knows what that means, even though English expressions have never been his strong suit. Haru knows he'd gotten greedy and overindulgent, but pleasure is addictive and so is Rin, in any form Haru can get. 

The museum rule doesn't work when the artwork looks back. 

 

\--

 

Haru self-imposes a ban from the museum.

He doesn't look, doesn't touch, and he keeps his distance. 

The Rin he sees at night doesn't look confused, doesn't look scared, doesn't look like he's walking a tightrope between angry and lost. The Rin he sees at night breathes Haru's name like an acceptance letter, kisses him like everything is fine, sets him on fire and forgets to dampen the coals when Haru wakes. 

Guilt does that for him. It is heavy and familiar in Haru's chest, and he feels déjà vu like the screech of an oncoming train. 

 

\--

 

It's a week before Rin finally looks Haru in the eye and says, "Haru, what the hell?"

Haru doesn't know exactly what to say to that--half because it wasn't a real question, and half because he didn't know how to explain something as instinctive and primal as the exact location Rin occupied within his heart (the whole thing, as always, inevitable). It's not something he understands rationally himself; how can he possibly explain it to Rin?

But this is Rin, who knows him in a way that Haru doesn't understand, and maybe that's why this will work.

"Rin," Haru says, steps closer. They're outside the Samezuka natatorium and it's late because Rin had asked him to wait until everyone left, waved the others ahead, and no matter how sick Haru felt he couldn't refuse Rin anything. "Rin, I--"

"Is it," Rin interrupts, and he bites his lip and looks away, takes a deep breath. Haru waits, because he owes Rin at least this much. 

Rin glances back at him, takes a deep breath, and puts on his best defensive scowl when he says, "Is it just the sex? Is that--is that all you want?"

_Ever the romantic_. Haru snorts. 

He'd never had a chance at “just sex” with Rin. Rin had burrowed deep into Haru's chest four years ago, taken root and sprouted despite harsh winters, and every day his buds opened more. Haru knows Rin's roots are tangled with his still, as always, inevitable, and he knows it like he knows his instincts. He's never questioned that he loves Rin in an essential and life-defining sort of way. 

Haru never had a chance at wanting anything less than Rin's everything; Rin drops smiles like flower petals, smells like chlorine and heat and earth, and makes Haru's heart swell fit to burst.

Haru thinks about Rin sitting on his thighs, laying himself bare, his tears on Haru's face a rainfall after a brutal drought. He thinks of how, at that moment and in every moment after, his heart felt like it would crawl out of his chest and wrap its veins and arteries around Rin's hand like a leash for its master. 

"There's no way it's just sex," Haru says to himself as much as Rin. 

He watches the smile bloom on Rin's lips and wonders how anyone can want anything more than this. 

 

\--

 

This is how.

Rin had been shooting him these flighty little looks all through dinner, glances that never quite settled before he flushed and snapped at Nagisa or Rei, and Haru had gotten fed up with it. Or, more accurately, Haru had gotten fed up with trying to disguise how hard he was while pretending to listen to casual conversation, because something about the concept of being hard in public was offending his sensibilities. The last straw had been Rin brushing his foot against Haru's leg under the table, tentative enough for Haru to know it had been deliberate, and meeting his eyes for the first time all night.

"Rin," Haru had said, because he wasn't an idiot, "Come help me with English after dinner."

Haru isn't an idiot, but he is also not very patient. He's impulsive, too--he knows that by now, it's as instinctive as swimming and loving Rin and just as much a part of his personality--and that means he gets up and walks out of the restaurant after an hour with nothing but a pointed look to let Rin know he should be doing the same. 

Rin catches up a few seconds later, coming abreast of Haru, and says, "What the hell was that?"

Haru gives him a look so flat you could press leaves on it and doesn't answer. 

Rin gets it, blushes accordingly, and changes tack. "Where are we going?"

Haru sighs, hoping Rin will stop questioning him if he makes it abundantly clear. He looks down at his crotch pointedly--and he's still a little hard, enough to notice, because he can't be this close to Rin and not _want_ \-- and this time the look he gives Rin is hot and open and probably lewd. Haru says, with an air of finality, "Where do you think we're going?"

Rin makes a noise suspiciously like a whimper and doesn't say anything for the rest of the walk to Haru's house. 

 

\--

 

This is how. 

Haru is on Rin as soon as the door shuts, crowding him against the wood, framing Rin's head with his hands on the wall. Rin meets his gaze head on, lips slightly parted, breathing audibly, and this is how Haru could want anything more. 

"Haru," Rin nearly whispers, unsteady, and Haru sighs so hard it's almost a groan. "Haru, are we--is this--"

"It's not just sex," Haru says, but he's so hard it hurts and Rin is right here, his cheeks darkening, and Haru can barely think. But Rin and his happiness are instinctive desires, and Haru knows them without having to think. "I already told you."

"I heard you the first time," Rin says, sounding sharper than he looks. He moves closer, his nose bumping against Haru's, and the feeling is absolutely electric. Haru is aware of Rin like people are aware of sharp knives, the proximity of razor-edged metal thrilling in an erotic sort of way, and Haru thinks Rin might be just as deadly. 

Rin's breath is warm against Haru's mouth, and Haru does groan this time, strangled and low. At that Rin looks almost triumphant; almost, because his eyes are half-shut and dark, and he's running his tongue over his bottom lip, and it's so close Haru could touch it with his if he could only move.

"How far are we--how far do you want to go?" Rin asks, and now he sounds unsure but wanting, and Haru knows exactly how that feels.

_We'll go as far as you want_ , Haru wants to say, _as long as you don't go too far from me_. But Haru is seventeen and newly pieced back together and desperate, and the words are out before he can think about them. 

"I want you," Haru says, and their breath mingles between them like the last bastion of neutrality. "All of you. Everything."

Rin is nothing if he is not a challenge, and Haru is completely unsurprised when he grins, eyes bright, and says, "Come and get it."

"Gladly," Haru says, and Rin's mouth on his feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. 

 

\--

 

"I'm not dreaming," Haru murmurs, almost in awe. Rin stops for a second to look at him, and Haru stops for a second to look back. 

Rin is poised just above his cock, centimeters from sinking down onto it like Haru has wanted for months that feel more like years even in retrospect. His thighs are quivering and his face and chest are pink, but he's not crying; Rin looks just as hazy with lust as Haru is, and Haru doesn't know how he'd ever thought his dreams could hold a candle to the real thing. 

"No shit," Rin says, eloquent as always, but Haru can't find even a faint shade of the irritation that normally comes with Rin's barbs. All he has in him are desire and want and need and love, and there is no room for anything else. 

"Romantic," Haru says dryly, pulling at Rin's hips. Rin blushes and scowls and says something on the silly side of insulting, but he lines Haru up and meets his eyes as Haru presses inside. 

That eye contact is both infinite and fleeting; infinite because Haru feels it in his bones for weeks later, the tenderness and the closeness and the need, and fleeting because Haru is fairly sure he sees nothing but stars for a few seconds. 

Rin is wincing, so tight around his dick it feels like Haru will never be able to work his way out, and he is perfectly fine with that in a way that probably says something about his more possessive qualities. Haru tries not to roll his hips but it's so goddamn hard, he's so goddamn hard, and it's an instinctive impulse and--

Haru can't help the noise that escapes him, doesn't even regret it when Rin hisses and digs his fingers into the back of Haru's thigh. 

"Stop that," Rin says, even though the flush is spreading down his chest and his dick is twitching. Haru drops one hand from Rin's hip to his dick, strokes him nice and slow, watches as Rin's head lolls to one side and he pants like he does after warmups. "Haru--"

"Do you still want me to stop?" Haru knows it's unfair, because he's circling the head of Rin's cock, his thumb slick with precome, and Rin can't do much more than whine and whimper and make aborted little thrusts against Haru's hand. Haru feels him loosen up marginally and rubs soothing patterns into Rin's hip with his free hand, thinking _please please please goddamnit please_ and saying, "Do you want me to stop, Rin?"

He rolls his hips again, shifting his angle, and the cry that tears from Rin's throat beats every single one of Haru's most explicit fantasies by miles and miles. 

" _Fuck_ , Haru," Rin keens, squirming, and he jerks Haru's hand away from his cock and slaps it back onto his hip. "That's too much, I don't wanna come yet, just-- _fuck me_ \--"

Haru obliges. 

Neither of them say anything coherent for a long while. 

 

\--

 

"I almost wish you were dreaming," Rin grouses the next morning. Haru shifts in bed, makes the mattress dip, watches Rin move in response. Rin is here, corporeal, beautiful with his bedhead and scowl and hickies, and he's as pissy as he always is first thing in the morning. Haru's heart skips a beat, affection swelling in sync with his dick, and he's pretty sure he might still be dreaming. "My ass is fucking killing me. How the hell am I supposed to swim like this?"

"You'll get used to it," Haru says, and tugs on Rin's arm to pull him back down. Rin snatches his elbow away, blushing. 

"Like hell I will!"

Haru smirks, runs his fingers along the inside of Rin's thigh high enough to earn a shiver, and says, "We can practice." 

Rin falls into him like leaves drifting on a spring breeze, and Haru thinks the museum rule is for people who have never been in love with Matsuoka Rin. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a joking idea that Haru was conditioned to be turned on by Rin's tears since he cries often, and then it turned into Feelings with minimal porn. It was originally going to be mostly porn, but...oh well. I'm happy with the end result.
> 
> It probably needs some editing, but enjoy nonetheless!


End file.
